Ocean Child
by The Nowhere Girl
Summary: Rosarie Lightina Henderson may be one of the most beautiful girls you'll ever meet... and the most meaningful. She only has twenty years to live before an incurable cancer kills her. But when she meets George Harrison, could she finally learn how to live?
1. Ocean Greetings

**I'm sorry! I just HAD to get this story out before it burst out of me like an alien! I got it as I was walking on the beach across from my house ( I live on the Outer Banks) and I had to write it down! For this story, I will only have one end author note because the last words will be meant to have an affect on you.**

**R & R! :)**

**~Sarah**

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><p><em>4:56 p.m.<br>April 16, 1965  
><em>_Miami Beach, Florida.  
>Near The Beatles privately rented beach. <em>

Have you ever wondered how you would die?

Don't worry. A lot of people have told me that. You won't hurt my feelings. I mean, it's not your fault, right? You never caused this or anything. You don't have any responsibility.

Well, I'll tell you how hard it is. I know that I only have twenty years. And it ends the before my twenty-first birthday. This I've known ever since I was a child. The day I will die...

What's the point of even going to school? I have two years after that. And being 18, I know I only have two years. But it's not as easy as you think to live through these things. I mean, I know when I'm going to _die. _

Did I put that on too strongly? I'm sorry, I don't know how else to live my life. And my parents shelter me and take care of me as if I'm gonna explode ever effin second. I'm not that fragile! It spreads, but it hasn't spread all the way yet. I'll be okay for a few more years.

...

But this is how I'm here, walking the beaches of Miami while my old aunt Caroline is in her beach house. She's too old to move around too much, which I'm kinda happy about. My parents sent me here to live the last two years of my life. That's how mad at me they are. They don't want to ever see their daughter again, even though they know I only have two years.

I guess you could say that's my fault. I finally snapped one day when they told me to start looking for a college. What's the point? Living the remainder of my life in school. I don't want that. I don't need it.

_"Rosarie, have you figured out a college?" my father asked, folding his hands and leaning on the table to give me a serious look. I turned to look at him in disbelief. They forced me through almost 18 years of school...and now they want me to go to college? What?_

_"I wasn't planning on going to college..." I started. "And call me Rose."_

_My mother started laughing that sugary sweet laugh, that fake, forced laugh. _

_"But then how will you be a doctor?" she asked. It was then that I realized that my parents weren't concerned about what I wanted._

_"A college to be a doctor requires four years," I said, my voice shaking._

_"And?" my mother said with a chuckle. I couldn't believe it. Did she forget? No, she couldn't have forgotten..._

_"Mom, I want to be a musician," I told her. _

_"Rosarie, stop with those nonsense dreams of your this instant and start thinking about your future!" my father scoffed at me._

_"I DON'T HAVE A FUTURE! I HAVE THREE GODDAMN YEARS TO LIVE! AND YOU EXPECT ME TO SIT THROUGH TWO MISERABLE YEARS OF A COLLEGE I NEVER WANTED TO GO TO SO YOU CAN HAVE YOUR "PERFECT LITTLE FAMILY?" Have another kid, and don't screw up and give it cancer this time!" I snapped, all those years of built-up anger exploding from me._

_"Rosarie Lightina Henderson! How dare you!" my mother shrieked, dropping her pie tin into the sink and running off into her bedroom. My father came up to me and slapped me hard across my face._

_"Well, _Rose_, since you apparently don't appriciate all we've done for you, get out. We'll have your cousin come pick you up in a few days and you can live with your aunt for the rest of your life. Do whatever you want, I don't care anymore. But your clock is ticking and we will NOT take care of you anymore!" he said with a twisted grin on his face._

Well, that's how I'm here. A day after my eighteenth birthday. Walking along the edge of Miami beach.

_"Two more years left,"_ I think to myself bitterly.

The water is cold, considering the season. The ocean hasn't warmed up yet. But I still let my feet touch the frigid waters. I pass silently through a crowd of screaming girls, not noticed.

Eventually, I sit on the hot sands, cold water rushing up to greet my bare feet. I could stay in the water forever, no matter how cold I got. I stare out across the waters dreamily.

_"When I die, I want them to creamate me and spread my ashes on the ocean,"_ I think happily to myself. I've always fancied the idea of being part of the Earth, even in that way. I let my eyes drift across the rolling water, getting lost in the time. I could sit here forever, just staring out. But the sound of voices gets me wary. I look at the ring on my finger. It's a beautiful pearl adorned with dimonds around it. I lift up the latch and look at the tiny clock underneath.

_6:24 p.m._

I stand to go.

"'Scuse me miss, but how'd you get here?"

I turn at the voice, definatley not American. And I'm face-to-face with George Harrison.

"Just walked past the crowd," I replied, brushing my blonde bangs out of my face. He looked me up and down before replying.

"Well, do ya live here, love?" he asked. I chuckled cynically.

"I do now," I said bitterly.

"I see..." he said.

"Not much of a talker are you?" I said, sitting back down.

"No. And I suggest you leave," he said. I chuckled and closed my eyes.

"Why? Arrest me or whatever. I don't care. Don't got that much longer to go anyway," I say. I open my eyes and look over my shoulder back at him. He's peering at me curiously.

"Whadda ya mean by that?" he asks. I tilt my head and motion for him to sit down next to me. He complies.

"I'm gonna die of cancer in two years, that's what I mean," I tell him. What? It's no big secret. But he looks at me in surprise.

"I'm sorry miss," he says politely. I laugh.

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. Besides, I've known for a long time. You come to grips with it after a while," I say. We both stare in silence as his hand slowly creeps over mine.

"What's been your biggest dream?" he asks me.

"I wanna be a musician," I say, looking back at the last rays of the sun. He chuckles heartily.

"I know all these things about you, and I don't even know your name," he says. We both laugh nervously.

"Rosarie Lightina Henderson is my full name. Just call me Rose," I say. The way he's staring at me makes me blush.

"Rosarie Lightina Henderson," he says the words in a gentle way that makes me quiver inside. I look at him as he stares off into the distance. Everything about him attracts me. I mean, at first, when I knew him only as a Beatle, I thought he was fake. But he seems kinda, thoughtful. He turns to face me and tucks some of my hiar behind my ear, fingers lingering near my cheek.

"Such a pretty name. Only fitting, eh?" he says. I blush again.

"So Rose," he starts. "Wanna come hang with me and the lads? We can make beautiful music together!"

We both laugh at his last part of the sentence. But I reply firmly:

"Yes. As long as I get to play the triangle!"

We both laugh as he takes my hand to lead me up the beach, up the steps and into the house.

"Hey lads! I brought a pretty one!" he hollers.

"Wait? A pretty one! I wanna see!" Paul McCartney's head pops up from behind a couch.

"Is she blonde?" John Lennon's head appears from upstairs.

"IS SHE CUTE?" Ringo Starr comes running out of his room.

"She is indeed, Ringo and John, but she's George's," Paul says, walking around me to look me over.

"She can always change her mind. Hello darlin. John Lennon at your service," he says, taking my hand and kissing it. I giggle and look to George on what to do next.

"Just go with it," he whispers in my ear, squeezing my hand for support.

"Well, she's a keeper George!" Paul says, patting me on my lower back, like REALLY low. I squeal and jump up about five feet. Then I glare at Paul.

"Ah! C'mon! Jeez! I'm not a puppy!" I say. He smiles at me and winks.

"I know ya aren't darling. A dog couldn't have that nice of a rack now, could it?" he says, obviously flirting. My eyes are probably the size of the moon and I hide behind George.

"Don't scare the poor bird, McCartney!" John yells, poking me in the side. I yelp and jump up again. John does a sneak attack grab and I yelp AGAIN. Suddenly, it's like a Lennon-McCartney free-for-all as they start tickling me and getting grabs here and there.

"No! You'll ruin the poor girl!" Ringo shouts, whacking them with a pillow.

"How could you not expect us to go after a girl so cute in that kind of clothing?" John asks. I'm suddenly aware that I'm wearing shorts with a bunch of holes I cut into them and a black tank-top that hugged my hourglass figure with roses sewn all over it. I mean, I guess it was kinda suggestive but really...

Suddenly, I'm lifted out of the chaos onto someone's shoulder.

"Hey!" Paul yells.

"We weren't done with her!" John yells.

"Well, ya are now!" my savior yells. He locks his bedroom door behind him and puts me down on his bed.

"George, my hero!" I say dreamily. He chuckles as I lay down on his bed. He kneels over me, hands next to my shoulders. He's so close I can breathe him in. Mmm...he smells good...

"And does this hero gat any repayment?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestivley. I smile and fake a yawn.

"Sorry! Too tired!" I say. I turn over on my side pretend to sleep.

"You're not getting away that easy!" he says. He pushes my shoulder back gently and crushes his lips to mine. I kissed back, enjoying this feeling.

We kept progressing. Eventually, his hands somehow got under my shirt. He pulled away.

"You sure about this, love?" he asks. I smile and know my answer.

"Anytime at all."

* * *

><p>The next morning, I gather my clothes and leave before he wakes up. I look at his peaceful, sleeping face and kiss him softly before I go. I've just had the best night of my life, and I can live with that for the next two years. He's made me happy.<p>

I walk outside to the ocean and smell the salty air. It almost brings tears to my eyes to leave like this. But it's for the best. I'll only hurt him in the end.

And I know I will never see George Harrison again.


	2. Chance, Hopes, and Lost Dreams

**Did you guys actually think it would be a one-shot?**

**~Sarah**

* * *

><p>"Rose?"<p>

I thought I had closed the door quietly. Oh well.

"Yes Cath?" I responded. Hey, if my aunt wanted me to call her Cath, I'd call her Cath!

"Where were you last night?" she asked, her gray-blonde hair curtaining her frail frame as she turned to face me. I bit my lip, not wanting to lie to her, but not exactly wanting to say:

_"I was out fucking a Beatle, Cath. What'd you do for dinner last night?"_

So instead I said:

"I was just walking along the beach, Cath." She smiled.

"Did you meet any boys?" she asked in a gasping voice. I bit my lip and furrowed my brows. And I loved my Auntie, WAY much more than my psycopath parents, and I felt like I could trust her.

"Yeah, Cath. George Harrison," I said. She chuckled and looked me in the eyes, her pale grey meeting my green ones.

"Now, you want to tell me where you _really _were last night?" she suggested.

"I might've gone back to his house with him..." I trailed. She laughed loudly.

"Rose! You naughty girl!" she grinned.

"Well! He _is _a Beatle! He's got all the charms down pat!" I responded. And we both just had a good laugh. Until my chest started hurting. Then that laughter turned into a cough. And not just a small one, a horrible, hard, whacking cough that made me think my ribs would break in half. It felt like my lungs were drowning in air. And every gasp was a pain-filled struggle to get oxygen to my blood.

And I couldn't stop coughing! Coughing, coughing, coughing...

Blood.

In my own hand. In the palm of my hand, which was covering my mouth, even though I knew it wasn't a disease my Aunt could catch. Faster than fast, a napkin was shoved where my hand was by my Aunt. I put my hand to it, coughing into the napkin.

I wondered if you could die this way. If you could just cough enough that your throat would rip open, or your lungs would crack open and all of your air would flow out of you like water. Maybe you could break your ribs and they'd poke through your internal organs. Maybe you would bleed enough from your throat to die. Tears strated flowing out of my eyes. It was painful, that's true, but I wasn't crying because of that.

My whole life, I had prepared myself for death. But now, facing the actual prospect of it, it was scary, really scary. I wasn't ready to die yet. Not even close. And the coughing wouldn't end...

And then, it just stopped!

As suddenly as it came, it was gone! Just like that! And I peeled the sticky napkin away from my lips to see the most disturbing thing I had seen.

A blood-soaked napkin. _My _blood-soaked napkin. I took one look at my Aunt and threw it away.

"Hospital," I croaked out. And she immediatley called 911 to have an ambulance sent over. I stood there holding a hand to my aching head. My throat burned like the sun and my lungs and ribs felt like they were cracking. My eyes were starting to have little spots in the vision.

That whole napkin was covered in my blood. _The whole thing_. My vision abruptly ended as I fell to the floor. Dead.

...

Okay, so I wasn't dead yet. I had to remind myself that I still had a few years. But that's what it felt like when you pass out from lack of oxygen. It feels like death has welcomed you to his collection. It isn't happy, but it's peaceful. And for me, I had that peace ripped away from me, just like everything else.

Opening my eyes to the perfect white hospital room was a horrid sight for me. It was too bright and loud, and full of the false sense of hope. Don't the people realize that most of the people that come here don't come out? No one can stop death, it claims us all.

"Ms. Henderson? Are you awake?" a nurse pokes her head into my room. I swallow, and it hurts.

"I'm fine," I say. My voice sounds like I was swallowing gravel. The nurse nods in my direction and turns outside of the door. She says something to the outside world and an important-looking man comes in. Without a word, he grabs my arm and sticks a needle in it.

"Hey!" I shout at him. I wouldn't have minded if he had told me first. I've had tons of needles in my arm. They don't scare me at all. He looks at me glaringly through his thick glasses.

"Your blood level is back to normal. You're free to go for now. I understand you have a cancer?" he says with apathy.

"Yes. I do," I reply icily.

"Well, if you have any coughing attacks again, you need to come back right away, yes?" he says, looking at me as if the cancer was my fault.

"Sure," I say, throwing my shorts on under my gown and not caring as I strip it off to put on my shirt. I take one look at him and throw the gown in his face before leaving.

When I walk outside of the room, the receptionist tells me that my aunt has gone back home and that I don't have to be home for a little while, but to call her if I'm spending the night somewhere else. I tell the receptionist thank you and walk outside. Why would I spend the night somewhere else?

I shake my head and walk across the street, back to the beach. I'll just stay there for a while.

...

"Where's Rose?"

George's voice echoed through the empty living room. He thought that maybe it would answer the one question he had on his mind. He hoped he could find her.

"Not here, George."

Paul's voice came from behind him, but he didn't turn. He knew Paul was the only one here. He had heard Paul's bedroom door open. He didn't bother to turn to face the "cute" Beatle. He had had one-night stands before, and he had had the girls leave before he woke up. This had happened before, and he was aware of the fact that he would probably never see her again. But this happened all the time. So why did it hurt so much?

"Where is she, then?" George said, turning slightly.

"Back home probably," Paul answered. The smell of a cigarette came from behind him. George had the sudden urge for any alcohol. Any kind. Just something to bury that feeling deep inside. He turns and walks into the kitchen, stalking up to the cabinet. He pushes things around, looking for anything that will dull his awareness of it all.

Paul hears George clanking around in the cabinet and shakes his head silently.

"Drinking this early in the morning?" he asks.

"Shaddup!" George replies harshly, cracking open the lid of a half-empty vodka he found in the cabinet.

"No need to be a John," Paul chuckles lightly. George grumbles in reply. Paul plays with the ring of water left on the table from his coke. He wonders why George is acting this way.

"Why do you care so much about this girl George? She's just another one-night stand. What do you care?" Paul asked. George paused, pulling the bottle away from his mouth. He ran his fingers around the edge of the lid. Why did he care? She was just another girl.

But she wasn't. The way she talked. How inhumanly beautiful she was. Her intelligence and the fact she only had two years.

He could see himself marrying this girl. He could see their children running through the house while they laughed. But he had only been with her for a night. And he knows they didn't do much talking.

With a panicked realization, he turned to face his best friend. This man had been with him through everything and always had good advice to give. And he was waiting patiently for George's reply.

"I think I love her."

...

Waking up in the hospital again wasn't a good thing for me. I think I just passed out from fautigue or something, but I still hated hospitals. Hospitals...meant death. And I could feel it coming ever-closer.

"Ms. Henderson! You're awake!" An overly-cheerful nurse came in. I sat up and yawned.

"Guess I am," I said, stretching my arms and looking up. I looked down to face her as she put down a clipboard and pulled out a stehescope. She lifted my shirt and started feeling for my heartbeat.

"Deep breath in, and out. Good! Heartbeat is back to normal!" she said, scribbling on her clipboard. I scratched around my IV, wishing they would take it out.

After a few more tests, she took out the IV and said I was free to go.

"My name is Martha, by the way. I'll be your nurse if you come back again," she said before walking out. _"She knows," _I thought. I shrugged and pulled on my day clothes, perfectly willing to leave behind all this death.

Honestly, more than anything, _he _was on my mind. And that bothered me. I had already come to accept the fact that I felt more attatched to him than just a one-night stand. But this boy was a Beatle, something I could never have. And did I really want him to be in the little bit left of my life? That wouldn't be fair to him. I scratched behind my ear, knowing I wasn't good with this love stuff.

Cracking my knuckles, I stood up and looked around the room one last time. Something caught my eye in the virtually white room. Color.

A yellow rose was laying on my nightstand. I picked it up and smelled it. Smelled like the sea. It instantly brought tears to my eyes. I set it back down and walked out of the room, breezing past reception and going out the door. As I got home, Cath hwas on the phone.

"No she's, oh, she's right here. Do you want to talk to her? Okay, here she is." she handed me the phone.

"Hello?" I answered.

_Hello Rosarie, it's your mother._

I took in a sharp breath. "What do you want?"

_I just called to see how you were doing. To see if you were okay after the hospital visit._

"I'm fine. Why did you really call?"

_To ask you to come back home. All of this has been happening too fast. And your father didn't mean what he said. Please come home._

I'd been expecting this. I closed my eyes and rubbed one knuckle across my forehead. "No."

_Great! I'll get your, wait...what?_

"I said no."

_Well, why Rosarie?_

I could hear her hurt. "Because I'm happy here. And because you still want me to go to college, right?"

_Of course, what else would you do?_

"Live the rest of the life I have without school."

_Then you can't be a-_

"I don't wanna be a doctor! Get that sick thought outta your head!"

_Rosarie, you will not take that tone with your mother._

"You can't control me. I'm eighteen. Out of your reach."

_Then fine! Waste the rest of your life on a broken dream! _

"I will! And you can't stop me!"

_Just one question: Is this about a boy?_

I licked my lips. Wasn't prepared for that. "Not entirely. But he's a contributing factor."

_Does he know the truth about you?_

"Yes, he does in fact. And he doesn't care."

_Are you sure? How could a man love a woman that he knows will die? That won't carry his offspring? That he couldn't marry? How could a man love someone like you, with the attitude you have? I bet he was just in it for the-_

"Stop! Stop! Shut-up and don't talk about me like you know me or him. Oh, and one more favor."

_What?_

I grit my teeth. " Don't show up at my fucking funeral." Then I slammed the phone into it's socket and burst out crying.

"Rose?" Cath said tenativley.

"He...he doesn't love me. I know it," I whispered.

"Well, I certainly don't remeber saying THAT."

George Harrison was standing in my doorway.


End file.
